


Burning the Candle (at Both Ends)

by lonelywalker



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn Battle, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "tired".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning the Candle (at Both Ends)

The clank of the cup by her ear wakes her up - that and the sudden realization that, no, she definitely isn't snug and warm in her own bed. She's far too vertical for that.

"It's late," Frank Lundy says as she blinks irritably at her own desk lamp and the Windows icon dancing around her monitor. "Drink."

She frowns. "This coffee has a leaf in it."

"It's tea, and that's mint. It's good. Drink."

She sips it carefully, eyeing him over the rim and gradually coming to the realization that he must be right. It _is_ late. It's so late that there's no one else here, and she can't even hear the clank of the cleaner's cart in the hallway. 

She glances warily at her watch. "Oh _shit_." And rubs at her cheek, where she's beginning to suspect she might find the imprint of a pen.

"Come on," Frank says, and she only now notices that he looks about tired enough to drop too, shirt collar open, tie gone. "I'll drive you home."

"Which home?"

"Mine?"

This late, most of the attraction of going to Frank's apartment isn't really an option. Then again, it _is_ closer. "Okay, but fuck I have to finish this report..." She pokes at her keyboard, and the document pops up. "Huh. Looks like I actually did finish it. Go me."

"You spelled 'conclude' with three 'l's."

"Now is no time to be picky."

Two minutes later the entire thing is printed, stapled, stuffed in a manila file, and… she’s two steps away from LaGuerta’s office when she realizes.

She spins on her heel. “…this is for _you_ , isn’t it?”

He nods.

She goes and thumps it down on his desk anyway. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Ready?” he asks, already rummaging in his pocket for car keys.

There is, she thinks as she’s looking at him in the half-light, another principle she should be obeying. Something to do with them being alone in the office, with no disapproving brothers or co-workers, no question of rank, no possibility that someone else might walk in…

“I’m going to fall asleep in the car,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Frank shrugs, not getting it. “I can probably carry you. It’s not like you weigh that much.”

“I’m going to fall asleep,” she repeats. “So we really should make the best of this before I do.”

“The best of…?”

He’s a Fed. He used to be a spy. He’s over six feet tall and probably weighs twice as much as she does. It’s still pathetically easy to push him into the nearest chair and clamber on top, pinning him down as she pulls open his fly.

“Uh. Debra…”

“Shut up.” She barely gets the words out before her mouth presses against his, and then that’s the end of his comments for the evening too. Shouldn’t she be having these ideas hopped up on caffeine, not dead on her feet? What the _fuck_ had been in that tea?

But these questions are quickly replaced by the one about why she never wears skirts to work. Still. She’s fucking her sort-of-not-really-boss on an office chair. Now is hardly the time to worry about tangled clothes.

Frank gets hard so fucking easily for an old guy. Maybe the adrenaline helps, she thinks, but now is really not the time for thinking. Now is the time for the slide of him between her thighs, pushing up inside her.

“Fuck you’re big,” she mutters, moving, always moving, needing this to go fast – before a phone rings, before someone wanders in, before her brain catches up with her clit.

“Same size I was this morning.” 

It’s almost a triumph to hear how strained he is too, how much he _needs_ this. Only a few days since they first slept together, and she’s already teaching him how to thrive on chaos.

She comes against his frantic fingers, cries out into his shoulder, and feels the hot, urgent spill of him inside her.

Two minutes later they’re in the elevator, holding their breaths, fingers entwined.

Four minutes later she’s curled up asleep in the passenger seat, dreaming of chairs and typos and tea.


End file.
